Fix You
by Meg The Maggot
Summary: The Engineer only accepted the job with RED because he needed the money. He found a kindred spirit in the BLU Pyro, but their conflicting loyalties and priorities lead to disaster. Title shamelessly stolen from Coldplay. Contains one-sided man love.
1. Prelude

If pressed, the RED Engineer said it had begun innocently enough. It wasn't something he liked to talk about, and he grudgingly gave only the basest of details. He said that he had been repairing a sentry when someone moved behind him. He had assumed it was a Spy, and he got up to look for him. Instead of the Spy he had been expecting, he had found the BLU Pyro crouched behind a crate, cradling a broken arm. In a moment of sentimentality, he had allowed the Pyro to slip away, rather than killing the poor bastard. The Pyro had started hanging around during missions, and the Engineer was glad for the company.

They were friends, he said, and nothing more.

That was not an interesting story. To some degree, his teammates could be forgiven for speculating and adding their own details where Engineer had neglected to give his own. It was boring to say that an odd friendship had formed on the battlefield, crossing team lines. It was far more interesting to say that two men had started tearing each other's clothing off in the middle of a war, so that was what the other REDs said.

As much as everyone enjoyed talking about the Engineer and the BLU Pyro, it rapidly became apparent that no one really knew what had happened. The Soldier claimed that the BLU Pyro had seduced their Engineer as part of an elaborate ploy to steal their intel. Scout was firm in the belief that the 'Pyro' was actually a Spy. The Spy scoffed at this, and said that no real Spy would have allowed the relationship to end the way it did. He said that the relationship had likely been purely physical, a simple release for the pent-up energy and frustration that went with being a mercenary. Sniper agreed with Spy, but didn't like to talk about it. He often pointed out that it was really none of their business, and if Engineer wanted them to know what had happened, he would tell them. Demo shared Sniper's opinion regarding Engineer's privacy. He flat-out refused to discuss it all, instead ranting drunkenly about respect for privacy and inter-team relations. Neither Medic nor Heavy talked much with the rest of the team, but Heavy had confessed to Medic that he thought that the Engineer and the Pyro had really cared for each other. Medic had dismissed this as useless sentimentality, but privately hoped that it was the truth. The RED Pyro also chose not to discuss the relationship, primarily because he chose not to discuss anything. He simply listened to the others' wild speculation, and formed his own private opinion that the entirety of the rest of the team was talking out of their asses.

There were two people who knew what had happened, and one of them was dead.

_Yup. The first few chapters are going to be mostly establishing background and setting the stage. There's not going to be any action for a few chapters, sorry. Anyway, please review and tell all your friends. Thanks for reading, folks!_


	2. A Beginning of Sorts

He hadn't wanted to take the job. He really hadn't. He was sure that he could find a job close to home, one that wouldn't take him away from his family. But the more he looked, the more it seemed he was overqualified for any job available in Bee Cave, Texas. When he applied for work, the people who owned the businesses invariably shot him down.

"Look," they'd say, "I can't hire you, not for this job. You're so smart, you've got all them college degrees, and, well… You pro'lly wouldn't be happy here, that's all. Nothing personal." He would stand, shake their hand, thank them for their time, and then leave.

He reluctantly admitted that they probably had a point. He was one of the first people in Bee Cave to go to college, and the first to return with a PhD. Or rather, eleven PhDs. The people in town talked, speculated about why a boy with 'That much big-city education' would chose to come back to Bee Cave. Someone that smart could have made it anywhere in Texas, maybe anywhere in the entire United States.

There were two theories about why he had decided to return to Bee Cave. The first was that he had come back to marry his long-time girlfriend, Anne. The second was that he'd had some sort of break down, and had been ordered home by a psychiatric professional.

In reality, he had come back because he didn't know what else to do. He had lived in Bee Cave his entire life, and the prospect of a world full of possibility terrified him. He decided to spend a year in Bee Cave with his parents while he figured out what to do with his life.

A year turned into two, and then three. He got married to Anneand they bought a small, shabby house at the edge of town. His oldest son, David was born the next spring, and his only daughter, Jilly was born three years after that.

Jilly turned four during the coldest, dampest winter on record. Whooping cough went around that year, and Jilly was hit especially hard. The girl couldn't sleep for the coughing and wheezing, and he took to sitting up with her until she dozed off in his arms. One night, as he sat and rocked her, he realized that he was stuck. He had dreamed since childhood about someday moving away from Bee Cave. He had his chance, and he had lost it. He could have gone anywhere and done anything, but he had returned to Bee Cave. He was a family man, now, and he would likely never leave the small town again.

The knowledge depressed him immensely, and he had responded by going into town and getting very, very drunk.

He staggered home the next morning at 8AM. He was hungover, and had no firm recollection of where he had spent the previous night. He could hear crying before he even reached his front porch. He almost let his cowardice get the better of him, but he steeled himself and knocked on the door.

Anne was near tears herself. Jilly had woken up on the living room floor in the middle of the night, afraid and calling out for him. Anne went to get Jilly, and ran into David in the hall. He didn't know where Dad was, either. They were too preoccupied with worry to go back to bed, and the three spent the night sitting up by the phone, waiting for him.

He admitted shamefacedly that he had been out drinking. Anne was furious. When she demanded to know why he had decided that beer was more important than his sickly daughter, he hadn't been able to answer. She didn't speak to him for nearly a week.

That was the year he lost his job.

He worked for a major mechanical manufacturer. He built and tested engines. It wasn't a lucrative position, but he was doing what he loved, and it beat the drudgery of deskwork. The Bee Cave Auto Manufacturing Plant closed in the week before Christmas, after being bought out by some large corporation. None of the workers were asked to stay on and work for the new company, and the plant was torn down a few years later.

He was early on December 20th, eager to get to the engine he was working on. Instead, an expressionless manager handed him a pink slip and an empty cardboard box, and wished him a Merry Christmas. Less than fifteen minutes later, he was standing on a street corner, clutching a box of his things and too numb to do anything but catch the bus with his former coworkers, all of whom had been laid off.

Anne had cried. Jilly was excited that her Daddy was going to be home with her all day. David had a slightly more realistic grasp of the situation, and wanted to know if they were going to have to move.

He looked for a job for months, but every open position filled within days of becoming available. Every person who had worked at the manufacturing plant was out of a job. He was turned down at every single business in town, only to learn a week later that the job had been given to a family member of the business owner.

Anne who kept the family together. She hadn't gone to college, but she had a head for numbers. Her children were hungry, and she was in imminent danger of loosing her home. She swallowed her pride, walked into the local law office, and walked out with a job as a typist.

When Anne told him that she would now provide for their family, his shame and sense of worthlessness nearly overwhelmed him. He left the house for the bar, but never made it there. He wandered the streets until he found himself standing at the very edge of a bridge, staring down into the gorge below.

A woman had emerged, seemingly from the shadows. She was rail-thin and reeked of cigarette smoke. She said that she had a job for him, a job perfectly suited for a man of his unique talents. When she told him what she was prepared to offer him, he took a step back, and nearly fell off the bridge. The woman pressed a stack of papers into his hands. "Just think about it," she urged, and then melted into the night.

He hadn't shared the papers with Anne right away. Something had been deeply unsettling about the woman and the job she offered. No matter how many times he combed the papers, he couldn't find any indication of what the job actually entailed. The papers said that he would be working with an international group of experts on a tactics and logistics team. He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he got the impression of illegality from it.

Anne didn't understand his hesitation. She was beside herself with joy. She listened to him when he expressed his concern, but she thought he was being silly. "This is an opportunity," she said, "You would be foolish to not take it." She wore his reservation away, and a month later he was waving good-bye to his family from a train bound for an anonymous fort in the middle of the desert.

_It's back-story-rific! Please note that I've been a bit selective about what parts of characters' background I've included, so it may be inconsistent to what you expect of the characters. That's author-speak for "I'm too lazy to come up with OCs, but also too lazy to actually go with canon." I'm very honest, aren't I? Thanks for reading, and tell all of your friends, except the ones who would make fun of you for reading fanfiction._


	3. The RED Engineer

He spent the majority of the train ride worrying. The instant the train's door slammed shut, the engine driver had pressed a letter into his hands. He started reading the moment his family was out of view behind a bend in the tracks. The letter was from his new employers, and it contained his details of his new position.

He was going to be a mercenary. And he probably wasn't going to survive the week.

The last part was not explicitly stated, but he was small and weak. Gym had been his worst subject growing up. He still had the occasional nightmare about dangling on a rope, desperate to hold on, surrounded by jeers and laughter, with a sweaty ex-marine reminding him that weak little patsies like him were the breakfast of choice at basic training.

His new job seemed specially designed to combine his fears of the U.S. military and physical activity. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw burly, thick-skulled career killers returning a coffee tin's worth of assorted scraps of flesh and organs to his widow. He suddenly realized why his promised pension was so high: he wasn't expected to live long enough to collect it.

At least there was a generous widows' pension. It wasn't a huge monthly sum, but it would suffice. With any luck, it would be enough to pay off the mortgage and send David and Jilly to college someday. A kind of grim acceptance settled over him. He was mentally reviewing his will when the door to his train car opened.

A woman entered the car. He had seen her earlier at the station, and he nodded at her. She sat down facing him and watched him curiously. It was incredibly awkward, but she didn't seem to be bothered. He tried to ignore her, but her presence was the final straw.

"Don't you know it's rude to stare?" he snapped. He simply didn't have the patience to deal with her.

The girl shrugged, unfazed. "I guess." She kept staring.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. "Do you need something?" he asked, more to break the silence than anything else.

She shook her head. "No. But my older brother, who drives the train, told me to go bother someone else. So I did."

"He probably meant that as a figure of speech."

She shrugged again. There was something bird-like about her movements. " I know. I am bored and there is nothing for me to do."

"So you decided to talk to me?" he finished.

"Yes." She continued staring at him, but didn't say anything else. He decided he could ignore her if she was quiet. He had almost managed to lose himself in thought when she spoke again.

"You are the new RED Engineer, correct?"

"RED?" he asked.

"Reliable Excavations and Demolitions," she said.

"Oh." He paused. "Then yes, I guess I am."

She nodded, and settled back in the seat. "I thought so. There are nine different jobs, you know, out at the spy bases. Scott, my brother, and me, our job is to bring things to the bases. There are some big bases, but this is just one of the little bases. I like the little ones better than the big ones. There is less fighting at the little ones."

This intrigued him. "Oh?"

"Yes. At the big bases, they fight almost every day. But at the little ones, they only fight on some days. I do not like the fighting," she confessed. "It is loud, and the men are always cross when we deliver the supplies. They shout at Scott, my brother, and I do not like the way that they look at me." She shuddered, and then brightened. "But you are going to a little base. There is less fighting there. It is Monday. There will not be any fighting. And the men will be happy. They are always happy to get more things. And they will be happy that you are there."

Suddenly, her shoulders slumped, and a great sadness came over her face. "But maybe you will die, too. The last Engineer died. I liked him. He was nice. I did not like bringing his box to his family."

He couldn't help himself. "His box?"

"Yes. His box. He went in a box after he died. I was not supposed to, but I looked in the box. His face was gone." She shivered, and the ghost of something passed in her eyes. "I do not like the boxes," she whispered.

She drew her knees up to her chest and didn't talk for the rest of the trip, and instead stared into the space behind him. He turned this new information over in his mind. The last Engineer hadn't died immediately, if he'd had time to befriend the bird-girl. He glanced back at her. She was rocking herself, eyes wide and unseeing. He shivered slightly. Something was very off about the girl, and she made him uncomfortable.

He didn't have to spend much more time in her company. A half-hour later, the train's engineer called that they were fifteen minutes from the base. The bird-girl hopped to her feet and disappeared back into the engine, and he packed his few things back into his small bag. He had a larger trunk in one of the boxcars, but he'd brought a book along with him in the train, but between the letter and the bird-girl, he hadn't had a chance to read it. It was a western, about heroes living and dying in the deserts of America. Somehow, the subject matter seemed distinctly less appealing now.

They arrived, early, only ten minutes later. The girl ran ahead to the base to bring people to unload the train and carry supplies up to the fort. He found himself standing on the platform with the bird-girl's brother, Scott. He was tall and athletically built, and unloaded his trunk as well as a few crates of supplies quickly and easily. He leaned against one of the crates and lit a cigarette.

"I hope Rose didn't bother you too much," he said. They were the only people on the platform, but he still felt the need to confirm that Scott was talking to him.

"She's your sister, right?" Scott nodded coolly. "It's fine. She seems nice, just a little… odd."

The man gave a short, barking laugh. "She's like that. She's my half-sister, see? My dad was married to my mom, but not to hers. Well, her mom died when she was little, only it was just the two of them, and she was alone with the body for a week before they found her. She's been that way since."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Don't be. Her mom, not mine. Say, you're the RED Engineer, right?" He didn't wait for confirmation before continuing. "They'll call you Engineer, just so you know. Better get used to it fast."

He saw another opportunity to learn more about his future coworkers. "You know anything about," he gestured vaguely at the hilltop base behind them. "This?"

"Yeah." He stubbed the cigarette out. "There's these two companies, RED and BLU. Not sure why, but they have these mercenaries fight in bases all over this area. There's nine guys per company per base. They call the bases forts, and they call the guys a team. It's like a team fortress. And there's like, at least two just within 10 miles or so. The rest are farther away." Scott frowned. "Kind of weird, to think of it. There's nine specific jobs, and each team's got one guy per job. Huh." He looked lost in thought for a moment, but snapped back to attention.

"I don't think about it much," he admitted. "I'm just the guy who drives the trains." His eyes wandered to the fort on the hill. "Here they come."

A truck was rumbling down the steep, winding dirt road. The Engineer strained for a glimpse of the man in the drivers' seat, his breakfast threatening to put in a second appearance. The truck stopped at the bottom of the hill, and Rose and the driver got out. The man was wearing a black vest over a red shirt. He had glasses perched on the end of his hooked nose.

He didn't seem to notice Engineer at first. He exchanged a few words with Scott, and then signed a clipboard. Engineer noticed that Rose hung back a bit, watching the man with much more interest than she'd regarded him with. Scott glanced up at her, followed her gaze back to the man, and frowned at her. The girl blushed scarlet, and covered her face with her hands.

Scott glanced back at Engineer and smiled apologetically. "And we brought your new Engineer," he said.

The man noticed Engineer for the first time. He gave him a long, hard look. "Hello," said the man. He had an Australian accent and a gravelly smoker's voice. "I'm the Sniper."

"Pleasure to meet you," said Engineer. His voice betrayed more nerves than he'd intended, and the Sniper exchanged a brief glance with Scott, he shrugged.

"Gotta make our next stop," he said. He took his clipboard back from the Sniper, and swung himself up onto the train. Alice jumped gracefully up after him, and slammed the door behind her.

"So," said the Sniper gravely, "You're the new Engineer."

He nodded. "About bloody time," Sniper growled. He hesitated a moment, then apologized. "Sorry mate," he said. "It's just that we've been one man short for damn near three weeks. Give me a hand with the crates, and I'll show you around." Engineer nodded mutely. They loaded the crates onto the truck and rode back to the fort in silence.

_Long chapter is long. At least I got him to base. And a related note to my note in the last chapter: the base my story takes place in does not exist in game. I made it up, mostly so people won't be going "Since when is there a [noun] in [name of map]?" Lazy storytelling once again prevails! And again, thank you for reading. Also, tell all your coworkers, 'cuz I've already told you to tell all your friends twice, and I'm sure they're sick of hearing about it._


	4. All Your Base

The base was a sprawling facility, comprised primarily of long hallways leading to nothing in particular. The upper floor contained bedrooms and offices. Sniper showed him the room that was to be his. It was an L-shaped workshop with a bed at the far end. Half-completed projects and stray bits of metal were scattered on a long workbench. A pile of spiral-bound notebooks was stacked haphazardly next to the bed. It was an ideal space for building and testing engines. Engineer decided not to ask about the man who had occupied it before him, and the Sniper did not volunteer the information.

His room was at one end of a long, windowless hallway lit by buzzing fluorescent tubes. His door was next an exceptionally well-maintained fire exit. It was another thing he considered asking about, but he decided that he didn't want to know, not really.

The sickbay was at the other end of the hall. 'INFIRMARY' was painted on the door in comforting block letters. Under that was a sign with 'Do not bother me unless you are bleeding!' printed on it in black ink. That did not trouble Engineer. What troubled him was the fact someone had added 'profusely!' and then underlined it several times.

"I'd be more'n happy to skip this leg of the tour," said Engineer. "He's probably busy."

Sniper chuckled. "He just puts that up to keep Scout away. Medic's not that bad once you get to know him." Engineer very much doubted this, but decided to keep that to himself.

The empty infirmary's walls were bleached white, like a skull left in the desert sun. Three beds lined the back wall, half-hidden by grey curtains. There was an operating table on casters, pushed off to the side. Engineer noticed that the table had thick leather straps with massive buckles, and he shuddered. The room smelled like industrial soap and decay.

"Why is it that he's only gone when you need 'im?" Sniper grumbled. They waited for the Medic for a few minutes, and then left. "You'll meet everyone tonight at dinner, anyway," he said.

There was a staircase next to the infirmary, leading down to the private rooms on the first floor. There was a kitchen, a mess hall, and a common area filled with patched, shabby furniture.

"These're our private rooms, mate. They're locked during missions, so anything you put in here is safe from the BLUs. An' speaking of the BLUs, don't go in their private rooms, no matter what Spy or Soldier tell you." Engineer had more questions about the BLUs and the base rules, but the grim set of Sniper's mouth circumvented further questions.

The main floor also contained a supply room, more hallways, a room with lockers, several storage closets, a conference room, an industrial freezer, and another flight of stairs leading down.

The basement was maintenance rooms and sewer tunnels. Sniper said that he would probably work mostly in the large, open basement room. The room was really a junction of tunnels with outlets all over the entire fort. Several maintenance rooms branched off of the tunnels.

"That's it, mate." The Sniper checked his watch. "About an hour 'til dinner. We take turns with the cooking and cleaning, mate, but you won't have to worry about that for a while. You should probably take a look at the stuff the old Engineer left. You know how to build, right?" There was a note of concern in his voice.

Engineer nodded. "My old job was nothing but building." He couldn't help the pride that crept into the statement. He may have been fired, but he had been tops in his department.

The Sniper relaxed visibly at this news. "Our last few Engineers were surveyors, every bloody one of 'em. Couldn't build to save their lives." He paused. "Literally," he added. The Sniper laughed at his own joke.

The Engineer managed a weak chuckle, and then excused himself to look at the notebooks in his workshop. The notebooks were old and in terrible condition. Pages were torn or missing entirely, and about half of what was left seemed to be written in code. The little he could read seemed to be plans and schematics for various weapons.

He was eager to start puzzling out the coded writing, but he needed a notebook of his own and something to write with. The drawers were well stocked on both counts, and also contained complete blueprints for mounted guns called sentries. He also found plans for some sort of vending machine, and what looked to, but couldn't possibly, be a teleporter.

He was so absorbed in reading the notebooks and blueprints that he almost missed the dinner bell when it rang an hour later. He carefully rolled up the blueprints and closed the notebooks. When he was satisfied that everything was in its place, he walked out into the hallway. It was time to meet the team.

_I'm sorry about this chapter's name. I really am. It occurred to me, and then it wouldn't unoccur. Anyway, this base isn't base on any map existing in game. Sorry for any bewilderment. And thankies for reading. Please review and tell your family._


	5. Meet the Team

Dinner had already started by the time he arrived in the mess hall. Sniper called him over, gesturing to a seat between the Australian and a very drunk one-eyed Scottish man. Engineer was uncomfortably aware of the quiet that settled over the team while he crossed the room and took his seat. Sniper passed him a pot of creamed corn, and the team's interest in Engineer waned as he started to serve himself. Conversation picked up again, and the rest of the team seemed content to ignore him.

Once everyone had settled, Sniper stood and waited for the team to stop talking. "I'm sure those of ya with working eyes-no offense, Demo- have noticed someone new." Six and a half sets of eyes flicked to Engineer, and then back to Sniper. "This is our new Engineer. And I want all of you to make him feel welcome." He sat back down, and everyone turned to look at Engineer again.

The first man to introduce himself was the man sitting facing him. He looked about five years younger than Engineer, and had a German accent. He was the Medic, and he did not seem particularly impressed by Engineer. There was something deeply off-putting about him. Engineer got the impression that the young man was not legally a doctor, at least not in the United States.

A massive, bear-like man was sitting on Medic's other side. He introduced himself as Heavy in broken English. He seemed friendly, if a bit dim and brutish.

The man on his left was called Demo, which was short for Demoman. He was the team's explosive expert and resident drunk. He clapped Engineer on the back and slurred something unintelligible by way of a greeting

Sitting on Demo's other side was a man (?) in what looked to be a fire-retardant suit. This was the Pyro, whose job was exactly what his title implied. Pyro was wearing a gas mask in addition to his suit. He waved idly at Engineer, but didn't really seem interested in further interaction. While he was showing him around, Sniper warned him that Pyro didn't talk, and when he did, damned if anyone could understand him.

A young man from Boston was sitting next to Pyro. He stopped eating long enough to introduce himself as Scout, and then continued to eat with greater speed and enthusiasm than Engineer had previously thought possible, boasting about his accomplishments on the battlefield the entire time. Occasional chunks of food flew from his mouth and landed on the table. Pyro didn't seem to notice or be bothered by the boy's abysmal table manners.

The man on his other side, however, seemed to be bothered immensely, and kept inching slightly away from Scout. The man gave Engineer a cursory nod and introduced himself as Spy. He was wearing a mask that hid everything but his mouth and flinty eyes. He was wearing a suit that looked more expensive than anything Engineer had ever owned. He seemed disdainful of Engineer, and ignored him in favor of attempting to distance himself from Scout.

The last member of the team spent much of the meal talking to a shovel, stopping occasionally to bark insults at Scout. He reminded Engineer unpleasantly of his old gym teacher. He decided to avoid Soldier at all costs, which would likely prove difficult, as their rooms were next to each other.

Once the Team had introduced themselves, they settled back into the comfortable pattern of ignoring him. Sniper made the occasional attempt to draw him into his conversation with Demo, but for the most part, Engineer spent the meal observing the Team. Medic and Heavy seemed to be very close, and talked almost exclusively to each other during the meal. Medic seemed to be teaching Heavy to speak German, and Engineer couldn't understand a word of what they were saying.

Spy didn't seem to like anyone, rather; no one seemed to like him. He seemed to be watching everyone at all times, his sharp eyes darting around the table, as if he suspected someone was about to turn on him at any moment. Scout seemed to like everyone, but he was often deliberately shut out of conversations. Instead, he focused his attention on Pyro, who didn't seem to be very interested in what Scout had to say.

Other than insulting Scout, Soldier didn't talk to anyone but his shovel for the entire meal. The moment he was finished eating, he left the table, throwing one last suspicious look over his shoulder as he slammed the door behind him.

"Lousy bastard," Demo grumbled. "'S his night to wash tha dishes."

Medic left shortly afterward. "Ven you are done here, Herr Engineer, come see me in ze infirmary. You need to be briefed. I vill give you your equipment zen." Everyone but Sniper and Demo trickled out. Engineer hung around to help them wash the dishes. He was stalling, but he really didn't want to deal with the Medic.

It was amazing how long drying dishes could take if one was extremely thorough. Sniper and Demo exchanged a look over his head, but didn't say anything. Instead, they slowed to match Engineer's pace and made small talk.

"So where're ya from?" asked Sniper. He ran a plate under the water for the third or fourth time. It was the cleanest the dish had been since it had been purchased.

"Texas," said Engineer. He accepted the plate from Sniper, and began drying it methodically.

"What did ye do before?" Demo took the plate from Engineer and added it to the neat stack in the cabinet.

Engineer shrugged. "This n' that. I worked designin' and testin' engines for a few years, but I was a mechanic afore that. Spent a lot of time in school, though. Castrated hogs for a summer, musta been ten years ago." He chuckled. "Paid well enough, but I haven't ate pork since."

Sniper hesitated. He seemed to be searching for words. "So," he said carefully, "Ya weren't ever in the army or anything."

"No. I thought about joining the Air Force in high school, but I'm colorblind. I wouldn't a' been any good at it, anyway."

"So ya don't have any combat training."

"None, unless ya count gettin' into fights in bars during grad school."

"Ye do ken you're goin' ta be a mercenary, right?"

Engineer winced at Demo's bluntness. "I had almost forgotten, thanks." He took another plate from Sniper, and nearly dropped it. He caught it, dried it, and handed it to Demo.

"Ya got a family, then?" said Sniper.

Engineer didn't realize how close to tears he had been. "Yeah," he said quietly, "I got a wife an' two kids." Demo had been sitting on the counter, but he slid off. He put his hands on Engineer's shoulders and looked him directly in the eye.

"It's goin' ta be okay, Lad." His voice had an oddly soothing quality. Engineer found himself nodding. "Sniper an' I'll be watchin' out for ya. You'll have a headset, so ye can call anyone on th' team if ye need 'em. They're good men, all of 'em. No one'll let ye down, I promise." Demo wrapped him in a quick, tight hug, and Sniper patted him awkwardly on the back.

"You'll see, Mate," he mumbled. "It'll be okay." Engineer was strangely comforted. He took a deep breath.

"Do you two mind finishin' tha dishes? I oughta talk to Medic."

Demo smiled. "Tha's tha spirit, Lad."

_I've got a tin ear for accents, sorry. Extra sorries if you're from one of the regions whose accents I've butchered. Please don't hunt me down and punch me. Anyway, if you've got any questions related to the story, I'd be happy to answer them as long as the answers don't spoil anything. Thanks for reading, please review, and tell all your neighbors!_


	6. The BLU Pyro

According to the BLU Spy, the REDs had finally managed to replace their Engineer. It seemed that they had encountered tremendous difficulty convincing anyone to accept the job after what had happened to the last few RED Engineers. The BLU Pyro chuckled and shouldered his flamethrower.

It wouldn't be long before they were searching for another replacement, not if he had his way.

* * *

The noon sun beat down on Engineer's neck and shoulders. Sweat dripped down his shoulders and congealed on his back. The dispenser he built was making a high-pitched whirring noise, and his sentries kept shorting out. He hadn't even bothered trying to build a teleporter; not after the fiasco with the Scout earlier that morning.

Medic had assured him Scout would be able to walk again in a few days, but Engineer still felt guilty about accidentally sending the boy to the infirmary.

He put the incident out of his mind and tried to focus on what he was supposed to be doing. Something about stealing a briefcase from the BLU base? Or maybe preventing BLU from stealing theirs?

He remembered that much from the previous night's informal meeting with Medic. He had gone to the infirmary as Medic had asked him to, but Medic had apparently already gone to bed, as he'd been rather edgy when he answered the door. Medic had given him his weapons and his uniform, and explained the goal of the mission in the most laconic terms possible. Medic had been in a hurry to send him on his way, and his thick accent made him difficult to understand.

The morning had been a string of failures, but things were starting to look up. His newest sentry was holding together. It seemed to be moving rather sluggishly, but it hadn't collapsed yet.

He decided to see if he could get a dispenser up. He turned his back on his sentry and looked for the file of blueprints he'd stuck in his toolbox. He was beginning to understand the intricacies of the buildings. At that moment, there was a small explosion behind him. His sentry had collapsed after all.

He sighed and stooped over the pile of scraps to see what parts he could salvage. The wiring and circuit boards were completely fried, but the metal casing and the tripod legs were fine. He reached out for the metal, and withdrew his hand just as quickly. The metal had _shocked_ him.

That wasn't right. The electrical components of the sentry were completely shot. There was no way it could still carry a charge. He frowned and reached out again, this time with his gloved hand. A small metal box was buried under the pile of scrap, sparking slightly. _Electro-Sapper_ was written on it in embossed silver script. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He stumbled to his feet and whirled around, brandishing his wrench.

The BLU Spy was nearby. And according to Medic, that meant he could be invisible, or it meant he could be disguised as one of the REDs. He was supposed to shoot anyone he saw, just to ensurethey weren't the Spy. He wasn't sure how he felt about a job where "Fire a Weapon at a Coworker" passed for problem solving.

Rather than standing with his back exposed like an idiot, he sat down with his back against the wall and waited. There was a series of explosions relatively close by, and he heard Demo laughing and shouting something that was probably obscene in Scotland. Spy ran past, disguised as the BLU Medic. He nodded at Engineer, who nodded back. Somewhere in the BLU half of the fort, a dog barked.

He had almost let his guard down when he heard a series of small sounds, and then a thud. He froze. There was a moment of silence, then the sound of metal on metal. A tiny sigh, and then irregular breathing, coming from behind the crates stacked along the opposite wall.

He strained, trying to pick out the breaths over the rhythmic beeping of his sentry. His heart was in his throat, and his palms were sweating. He was suddenly a thirteen-year-old kid again, holding a gun for the first time. It was heavier than he expected, and it seemed to be radiating latent power.

He stood, and his mind went blank. He crossed the base in mechanical steps, and rounded the bank of crates with the shotgun raised and his finger on the trigger. The BLU Pyro was huddled against the wall, his mask lying next to him and his face ashy and swollen. Engineer lowered the shotgun for a fraction of a second. The Pyro's blue suit was so completely slicked with blood that for a moment, he mistook the BLU Pyro for the RED one.

There was a look in his eyes that Engineer had once seen in the eyes of a dog. The dog had been tangled in a barbed wire fence, and was lying completely still. He had thought it was dead until he approached, and then it had thrashed, desperate to free itself, even as it was bleeding to death. Its eyes had been completely dilated with terror.

He had shot the dog. It had jerked at the bullet's impact, and then gone completely still. He cut it out of the fence, patched the hole, and buried the dog. He was not a sentimental man, but he had thrown up once he had smoothed the dirt over the shallow grave.

The experience had disturbed him in a way that he was powerless to describe. And he couldn't bring himself to repeat it. The Pyro was as good as dead; there was no need for him to intervene. He lowered his shotgun and turned his back on the Pyro.

He crossed the base in the same mechanical steps, and lowered himself into a sitting position against the wall, the picture of weariness. He did not move until a woman's crisp voice announced the end of the mission.

* * *

_Hey! It's the second main character! And only 6 chapters into the story! Anyway, future updates are going to slow to a crawl. I write this on a ten-year-old Pismo, the power cord of which recently caught fire. Yes, really. So until I can secure a new cord, there probably won't be anything new here._

_Also: The dog Engineer hears barking belongs to the BLU Sniper, who is a professional hunter from Wisconsin. He brought his hunting dogs with him when he got hired, much to the consternation of the BLU Medic._


	7. untitled

There was no longer any doubt in the BLU Pyro's mind. He was completely and unquestionably alive. The information didn't sink in until he was dragging his battered body back towards base after the mission ended.

He went over the day's events in his head. The RED Demoman had somehow picked up on his plan to kill RED's new Engineer. It was easy enough to outmaneuver the Scot, and he supposed that was where he had erred. He had been cocky enough to stop to taunt the Demoman, and that was when the explosion had knocked him into a wall and sent shrapnel ripping through his body.

Deafened and very nearly dead, he had somehow found refuge behind a stack of crates, where he removed his mask and prayed to any god still willing to listen him.

His mind went completely blank when the RED Engineer rounded the corner with his shotgun raised. He had a moment of stunning clarity while the Engineer had the shotgun pointed at his chest. A bizarre calm washed over him, and he had almost come to terms with his fate when the Engineer abruptly lowered his weapon and walked away.

He probably should have been relieved, but the only thing he had felt at that moment was curiosity. The Engineer had a perfect shot, a guaranteed kill. There was no way for Pyro to resist in any way. He had lost his flamethrower in the Demoman's blast; he was too weak to lift his axe or shotgun. There was no reason for him to be alive, and yet there he was, limping back to the BLU base, somehow still standing.

His mother had firmly believed that everything happens for a reason, and he began to wonder if there wasn't some truth to her statement as he blacked out in the foyer of the BLU base.

* * *

The BLU Pyro woke up staring at a very bright light. He thought for a moment that he had died after all, and then realized he was in the infirmary. There were tubes in his mouth and nose, and one in his arm. He sat up and began to pull them out, triggering several alarms in the process.

The Medic was not amused. "You are lucky you didn't pull something vital out," he tsked, adjusting the monitors surrounding his bed, "You were barely breathing when Sniper brought you down here."

Pyro felt a surge of guilt under his customary belligerence. Medic was the closest thing he had to a friend on the BLU team. He was a very old man. He had been working with BLU for fifteen years by the time Pyro was born. His hearing was mostly gone, but he was still sharp as a tack. He was a damn good Medic, and he cared for his teammates like sons.

The unfamiliar guilt has subsided by the time Medic had finished adjusting the equipment. The old man walked back to his office and returned with a sheaf of papers. Pyro groaned. "I'm real ill, Doc," he said feebly. "I think I need more rest."

Medic cuffed him gently. "Nonsense," he said, a little too loudly. "I need to fill out and process these forms, and I want to do so while your injury is still fresh in your mind." He paused to fill in the basic information. "How were you injured?"

Pyro shifted slightly. The sheets of his rarely used bed were heavily starched, and he couldn't find a comfortable position. "The RED Demoman hit me with a grenade."

"Judging by your injuries, you were struck by shrapnel rather than the blast itself. You were quite lucky, you know. Your vital organs were not damaged, only bruised. The shrapnel passed cleanly through your body, rather than lodging itself in your muscle. Your only risks were infection and blood loss." He made a note on the forms. "What happened immediately afterwards?"

Pyro winced at Medic's overloud voice. The dull pressure in his temples was promising to become a full-blown migraine. "I don't know. I got away from the Demoman, and I hid behind these crates near the RED loading dock."

"And what happened afterward?"

Pyro hesitated, his head still throbbing. He didn't feel like talking about his encounter with the RED Engineer. He still wasn't sure why the Engineer hadn't shot him. The experience felt personal. He was reluctant to talk about it with Medic, who would tell headquarters. He didn't want the stuffed shirts at BLU speculating about the Engineer's motives for sparing him.

"I… I stayed there. Until the match ended." Which was technically the truth.

"And you didn't try to call for me?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. "No," Pyro admitted finally.

"And why would that be?"

He hesitated again, perhaps a moment too long, because Medic threw him a sharp glance over his clipboard. "The new RED Engineer had a base set up nearby."

"And he didn't see or hear you?"

"No," he said lamely.

After what seemed like an eternity, Medic recapped his pen. "All right," he said, "I know you're not telling me something, but I can't imagine why. I have everything I need for my forms. If you remember anything else, tell me." He stood and flipped through the papers on his clipboard before looking back up at Pyro. "I'm going to hold you for observation overnight, but you should be fine to return to your room tomorrow. Also, I'm prescribing an antibiotic. I'll be in my office, shout if you need anything." He bustled off, presumably to finish filling out the paperwork and get copies sent to headquarters.

Pyro settled back against the pillows on his bed and tried to relax. He didn't know why he had lied to Medic. The strange guilt returned, and Pyro could not dismiss it as quickly as he had before.

* * *

Pyro was sound asleep when the BLU Medic checked on him fifteen minutes later. Medic chuckled softly and paged Sniper, telling him not to bother bringing a plate down. He went back into his office, shut the door, and put a record on his turntable.

He fiddled with the volume, keeping an eye on Pyro through the window on his office door. His hearing was shot, and he had no idea how loud his music was anymore. He liked to have something to listen to while he reviewed his files, but he had gotten more than a few complaints about playing his music too loudly at odd hours. Satisfied that Pyro was still sleeping, he started going through his papers.

He kept the files of every member of BLU that had ever been under his care. In over thirty years, he had accumulated hundreds of pages about his teammates. Flipping though them was as good as looking though a photo album, and a hell of a lot more informative. He usually liked to take his time when he reviewed his files, pausing frequently to look at the records of old friends and reminisce about the good old days, but Soldier had called for a strategy meeting that day.

Whenever there was a personnel change on either team, there was always a big show of recalibrating tactics to accommodate the newcomer. It had taken him years to realize that the plan never really changed. There had been a time where they'd lose three Heavies a month to death and transfers, and yet he always ended up tailing a great bear of a man, healing every teammate he came across.

It used to bother him that the people were less distinct than there jobs, but he had grown accustomed to it in his old age. In all likelihood, he was just desensitized, an old man who couldn't rightfully remember how long it had been since he had last been off base.

He was almost overwhelmed by a wave of melancholy. He slid the papers into Pyro's file, and stood. He shut his record player off, turned the light out, and locked his office door behind him. Over half of his life with BLU, and all he had to show for it was a pile of dead men's medical records.

* * *

_Has it become apparent yet that I know almost nothing about medicine? Anyway, HOLYSHITUPDATE. I finally managed to get myself a new computer to write on, which is exciting. Even though I now have a means of writing, school recently started again. I'm hoping to be able to update once a week or so, but I can't really make any promises. As always, please contact me if you have any questions! You're not bothering me, I promise! So thanks for reading, please review and tell your classmates._


	8. And I Don't Feel Any Different

The mission had ended in a draw. Engineer walked back to base in a daze, still struggling to process what had happened with the BLU Pyro. He hadn't thought he would see any of the BLUs that day. He had found a map of the base in with the stack of blueprints and notebooks, and the previous Engineers had marked a rough topography of where most of the fighting happened. He had deliberately set up his buildings in a junction of two infrequently used paths.

He would have been surprised if one of his teammates had found him, much less a BLU. But both the BLU Spy and the BLU Pyro had found their way to his little base. He had halfway expected the Spy, but the Pyro had taken him completely by surprise. His response had been automatic. His mind had shut itself down completely when he heard movement behind the crates, and they were only beginning to go online again.

It should have been a good thing that his first instinct was not to shoot an injured man, but he wasn't sure if conventional morals applied during missions. When he had learned the Ten Commandments in Sunday school, his teacher had not figured mercenary work into the equation. It wasn't a situation that normal people planned for, but he supposed that he wasn't normal.

* * *

Rather than dwelling on what he should or shouldn't have done that day, Engineer decided to write a letter to Anne. He'd only been gone two days, and he already missed her terribly. He split off from the pack headed towards the showers and went to his room.

He found a pen and a mostly unused pad of paper in a drawer. He closed the door and sat at the long desk.

_Dear Anne_, he wrote, _I arrived late yesterday afternoon. _His mind went unexpectedly blank, and he drummed his pen on the desk thoughtfully. He loved his wife, and he wanted to be honest about where he was and what his job was, but he didn't want her to worry about him.

And besides, there were cameras throughout base. They were being observed, and he was willing to bet that someone read all of the outgoing mail. There was no way that a company that hired its employees without telling them about the job would allow letters contained details of the missions to reach their intended destination.

He supposed that was not much of an issue with most of the men. There hadn't been much time for small talk in the 24 hours he'd been on base, but not one of them had mentioned any relatives off base. They were outright rude to each other during dinner the night before, but they had been like family during the mission. Welcoming as they had been, he felt like an intruder when he heard them joking and asking after each other over the communication lines during the mission. It reminded him a little bit of high school, when everybody had dozens of friends, but he sat alone in the library during lunch.

He smiled a bit at the memory. He had been tremendously awkward as a teenager, too shy to talk outside of class. Anne had been his only friend, and that had been because her parents were friends with his. They weren't dating, and the possibility never crossed his mind. Anne was someone to talk to and to walk to school with, even if she was only the gangly, gap-toothed neighbor girl. When he graduated, he forgot all about her until Christmas break, some three years later.

He hadn't wanted to come home at all that year. Finals started almost immediately after classes resumed, and he didn't want his large family made interfering with his studies. He spent much of the first week of break in isolation, emerging from his bedroom only to eat, use the toilet, and grunt greetings at the latest batch of friends and relatives.

On Christmas Eve, his mother practically dragged him out of his room. There was a group of carolers, people he'd gone to school with, and wouldn't he come down to say hello? With tremendous reluctance, he finally relented.

And there she was. Sometime in the three years he was gone, Anne had blossomed. She had always been pretty enough, but on that Christmas Eve, she was beautiful. Her movements were graceful and her voice had a musical quality to it. She was elegant and witty and charming, and she made she made him remember the fact that he hadn't showered for three days.

He didn't talk to her that night, and even if he had, he wouldn't have been able to think of anything to say. After she left, he returned to his room in a daze. He spent the rest of the evening staring at the same page of notes.

He still hadn't talked to her when he left a week later. Once he was back in his dorm, he realized that he had likely missed his only chance to make an impression on the girl of his dreams. He spent the short remainder of the semester so drunk that he didn't remember sitting any of his exams. Years later, he regarded the fact that he had managed to pass all of his finals a minor miracle.

He was almost afraid to return home that summer. But she was as happy to see him as he was to see her, and by the time he returned to school, they had exchanged addresses and promises to write once a week.

Before long, Anne's letters became the highlight of his week. He read and reread every letter dozens of time, until they began to fall apart. He found himself thinking of her at odd moments, wondering what she would have to say about this thing or that. He spent the week thinking of clever things to tell her, hoping desperately that he was making her laugh.

A few weeks before Christmas break, he realized that he had fallen in love with his best and only friend. The unexpected emotion was terrifying and exhilarating. Romance was completely new ground for him. He'd sat alone in his room, studying, every night for years. He knew he loved Anne, loved her wit and charm and warmth, loved the way she walked and the gap in her teeth and her yellow-green eyes. He hadn't seen her in months, but he could recall every detail about how she moved and spoke, from her soft, lilting voice, to the way she picked at her split ends when she was concentrating.

He loved her, but he didn't know how to tell her. He tried to write a love letter, but there was a block in his mind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force the things in his head onto the paper. Every letter he wrote seemed stilted, false somehow. He couldn't express himself properly, and every time he tried he ended up giving up after a dozen false starts.

Christmas break came and went too quickly. Before he knew it, it was New Year's Eve, and he was set to leave early the next morning. He hadn't been able to tell Anne how he felt about her, and his shyness and ineloquence had cast a pall over the holiday. He hadn't been able to enjoy himself at all during break, and every time he looked at her, he hated himself a little bit more for not being able to be honest with her.

At midnight on New Year's Eve, something changed. One of her married friends had invited both of them to a party, and they spent the evening drinking and talking about nothing. Just before midnight, everyone was laughing and talking and pairing off in anticipation of the New Year. He found himself standing next to Anne, his mind racing and heart pounding.

At midnight, they kissed, oblivious to the crowd loudly ringing in the New Year. They left the party soon afterwards to find her father to ask him for her hand.

Their engagement lasted the ten years it took him to finish his education. Their wedding day was the happiest of his life, and he remembered every word of their vows. _To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part._

Over the years, he had made additional private vows, both to her and to their children. He vowed to work and to provide for them, to honor and to respect her, but most importantly, he had vowed to be completely honest with her. There were no secrets in their marriage, and that was exactly how it should be.

But he couldn't write truthfully about his job with RED. He needed to tell someone outside of base about the day's events and his fears for the future, but he couldn't tell Anne. Even if the letter reached her without incident, he was afraid that knowing what was happening at base could be dangerous for her. A company paying men to kill each other over a briefcase wouldn't have any reservations about arranging the disappearances of the family of one of its employees. The thought alone was enough to turn his blood to ice.

Sitting there, he made another vow: He would do whatever it took to protect his family. If that meant lying to them, so be it.

But even if he couldn't tell her the truth, he could tell her how much he loved her. He picked up the pen with renewed resolve; prepared to write a letter like the one he hadn't been able to write in college. There was absolutely nothing to hold him back now, but the words refused to come. He sat with the pen poised over the paper for another half hour before he gave up and headed to the showers.

* * *

_Yeah, I can't believe I updated, either. Sorry for the delay, life happened. Thanks for waiting and for reading, tell your probation officer!_


	9. Not The Same

Engineer was feeling only marginally more confident in his building abilities at the beginning of the next mission. He had spent almost all of the ceasefire poring over the stacks of blueprints and notebooks in his workroom. The assorted plans had been written over the course of several years by at least seven different men of varying nationalities. They had made notes on each other's work, crossed things out, and changed units from metric to standard and back again. They were a mess, and he needed to go through them and copy down the relevant information in his own notebook, but that project would have to wait for a later date.

He set aside all but the most basic plans, and worked on perfecting the simplest variation of each machine. Once he had deciphered the coded portions of the plans, the construction of the buildings was fairly simple. The buildings were intended to be built beforehand, and then upgraded and repaired during missions.

Despite the extra time he had taken to build and inspect his sentries, teleporters, and dispensers, the prospect of the upcoming battle still terrified him. It had been three days since the last mission, and he still wasn't thinking clearly enough to write a letter home. He didn't want to die without having written to Anne. He couldn't discuss his emotions or what he was doing, but he needed to tell her _something._ On the eve of the next mission, he managed to write a terse note saying he had arrived safely and found his new job to be challenging. The letter had a forced, artificial tone, but he supposed it was better than nothing.

He was up early the next morning. Before the sun had risen proper, he was wandering through the RED portion of the base, using the map left by the previous Engineers to decide where to set up his buildings. The spot he chose for his base was more accessible than the last one had been, but still out of the way of where most of the fighting would happen. More than that, he had a clear view of the water tower where Sniper was going to spend the day.

He went about setting his buildings up as the sirens blared to announce the start of the match. He waved to Sniper, who waved back. It was nice to know someone else was watching out for him. Still thinking about Anne, he finished setting up. He looked over his base with a note of satisfaction, and then sat down with his back against a wall and his shotgun lying across his lap.

* * *

It had taken almost all of the three-day ceasefire for the BLU Pyro's injuries to heal. Medic had wanted him to take the day off, but Soldier wouldn't hear of it. He accused Medic of condoning desertion, and they had argued for hours before Medic finally relented. Pyro made a habit of ignoring the rest of his teammates and their arguments whenever possible, but Medic found him after dinner to tell him that, against his better judgment, he was clearing him for participation in the next day's mission.

Pyro was privately grateful to Soldier for insisting he not be confined to the infirmary for another day of observation. He was restless after three days in the tiny infirmary, trying to avoid Medic's cool stare. Medic knew that he was lying, and he seemed so goddamn _disappointed_ about it. Pyro thought he was slowly being driven insane by Medic's staring, but, to the old man's credit, he didn't actually ask any more questions, just watched him reproachfully.

Pyro was awake well before Soldier called reveille at six that morning. Anxious to get away from Medic, Pyro was dressed and halfway to the briefing room before anyone else was even out of bed.

"Good morning, Private!" barked Soldier as Pyro slid into his usual seat in the back. "Up bright and early! That's what I like to see!" Pyro mumbled an affirmative as the others began filing in. They came in clusters; Spy and Engineer together, then Sniper and Medic. Demoman, Scout, and Heavy came in last.

Soldier liked having these early morning meetings. He claimed they built morale and team unity. Pyro suspected that he really just enjoyed the opportunity to talk strategy with a captive audience. There had been more than one occasion where he'd had everyone out of bed at six AM and talked until the sirens announced the start of a mission at nine. He never seemed to notice or care that no one even bothered pretending to pay attention anymore. Engineer had fallen asleep, his head on Spy's shoulder. Medic was reading, and everyone else was playing a card game that Scout seemed to be loosing.

For whatever reason, Soldier didn't have much to say that day. He took fifteen minutes to review that strategy they'd been using for the past few days; then dismissed them. Everyone left in higher spirits, laughing and joking as they shuffled off towards the mess hall. Pyro hung back slightly from the main group. He wasn't in the mood for a loud, messy breakfast with the rest of the team, but the mission wasn't starting for nearly two hours. Instead of following the other men into the mess hall, he continued towards the supply room.

He didn't have a plan in mind as he walked past the locker room and out of the fort. The sun was barely up, and the night's cool hadn't yet completely dissipated. He found himself at the bottom of the narrow staircase leading up to the catwalks that wound through the base. Pyro supposed the network of walkways had been built for maintenance, but Sniper was the only person who used them anymore.

The walkways were suspended from the ceiling with frayed metal cables. They creaked and swayed at Pyro's slightest movement, but he could understand why Sniper was so fond of them. The windows next to the walkway were drafty and caked with years of grime, but the view of the desert surrounding the base was spectacular. He could see in all directions for miles, and the sight of the sun rising on the distant horizon took his breath away.

The sun was huge and red and perfectly round, staining the surrounding sky pink. As it climbed upwards, it grew in intensity and magnitude. Its ascent slowed as the sky turned from pink to red to palest blue. The stars faded and the last of the night's coolness cooked away.

He could hear his teammates were calling to one another through the thin walls of the fort, preparing for the day's mission. Pyro glanced at his watch. Nearly a quarter after seven; he would have to leave for the supply room and get his gear in order soon. But he could afford to spend a few more minutes enjoying the view and fresh air. He looked away from the sun and over at the RED base.

The base was completely still, save for RED Engineer. He was consulting a piece of paper, stopping every few feet to look around and take notes. He was already dressed for the day's mission, though his goggles were down around his neck.

Pyro leaned forward, fascinated. It was incredible how normal the REDs looked, outside of missions. The RED Engineer had been a terrifying figure when he had rounded the corner with his shotgun, but the man surveying the RED base was short and needed a shave. He had an open, symmetrical face, and his brown hair was beginning to gray the temples. He wasn't handsome, but there was something pleasantly compelling about his features. Pyro found himself watching the Engineer as he tucked the paper in his pocket and rounded the corner of the RED base.

* * *

Engineer couldn't put his finger on it, but something was off. All of his buildings were fully operational. He scanned the channels on his radio, and everyone else was fine. Scout and Demo had very nearly secured the BLU intel, but the BLU Heavy and Medic had beat them back. Scout and Demo had stopped by to use the dispenser and regroup. Sniper was moving to a different position to try and help cover their second attempt at stealing the briefcase.

By all accounts, all was quiet on the western front, but the uneasy feeling persisted. Engineer paced the perimeter of his base, trying to shake the feeling. Whenever he thought he saw a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, he made a point of investigating the source. His heart was pounding in his throat, but he managed to keep the hand on his pistol steady as he peeked around corners and strained his neck to look over walls.

There was nothing there. There was never anything there. It was just his imagination, or the sky reflected in a window, or any of a hundred other things. He was being an idiot, and he knew it. He was nervous about the prospect of actually having to use his gun, and he was letting his nerves get the better of him. He was being a paranoid idiot. There was no one there, and even if there were, they would have attacked by now.

For the third time in an hour, he settled back into his spot against the wall after checking for BLUs. He told himself over and over again that there was nothing there, and he had almost started to believe when he heard something like footsteps.

He froze. His hand went to his pistol in its holster, and he stood. Adrenaline was flowing through his veins, and his mind was strangely clear. He heard the footsteps again over the blood rushing in his ears. "Who's there?" he called.

For a moment, there was no response. Then, slowly, deliberately, the BLU Pyro stepped out from behind a wall. He wasn't wearing his mask, and for the second time in a week, Engineer looked him in the eyes.

He was a strange-looking man. His hair was blonde, so pale it was almost white. His skin was a similar clear, milky shade, and his ears stuck out. The most striking thing about him was his eyes, grey-blue and fathomless. Engineer was struggling to reconcile the Pyro with the man he had almost shot a few days before.

His hand twitched on his pistol, but he didn't draw it. "Why're you here?" He did his best to sound gruff, but his voice broke on the last word. The bizarre calmness that had filled his mind earlier disappeared all at once, and his hand was trembling again. He didn't want to get shot, but he didn't want to have to shoot anyone.

They stared at each other for a moment, still and silent. _Don't make me shoot you,_ Engineer pleaded. _I should have shot you, but I didn't, and now I can't and oh God please don't make me shoot you._

He didn't say it out loud, but the Pyro must have heard him. He hesitated another moment and then said, "The other day. Why didn't you kill me?"

He didn't know how to answer. After a long second, he finally said, "I… I don't know. I couldn't do it." The image of the dog caught in the fence returned and he wanted to vomit.

"Oh." The Pyro stared at him. "Thank you. For not killing me, I mean."

Engineer's throat constricted, so he just nodded. They stared at each other for a moment longer, and then the Pyro was gone again. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and he sat against the wall to watch the arc his sentry made as it scanned the area for BLUs.


	10. Anne's Lullaby

The silence of the early morning was stifling. Anne lit another cigarette as she moved restlessly from room to room, trying to escape her guilt. She had checked on the children multiple times; they were still safely asleep in their beds. The doors and windows were all locked, but the feeling of looming disaster persisted.

The paranoid anxiety had settled over her the instant the train had rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, taking her husband with it. The emotion was somewhere between melancholy and foreboding, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she had signed and sealed his death warrant when she had pleaded with him to take the job.

They contacted her at 10 AM on a Tuesday about a month before her husband told her about the job offer. A long, thin woman with a smile like ice knocked on the door.

Anne disliked the other woman immediately. She reeked of cigarettes and there was something predatory in the way she glanced around the living room, thinly veiled contempt on her face. Her words were polite, but her tone was bored and cold. Once the niceties of introduction were out of the way (the woman had introduced herself as Jane Roe, an assumed name if ever there was one), she had set a briefcase on the coffee table between them.

It contained 25,000 dollars. The woman explained that she represented an agency interested in hiring her husband. The woman was worryingly vague about what the job entailed, but Anne had a difficult time focusing on what the woman was saying when there was 25,000 dollars sitting on her fifteen-year-old coffee table.

The woman explained that her agency thought her husband would be hesitant to accept their offer. They wanted Anne to convince him to take the job, by any means necessary. The woman promised Anne another 25,000 dollars if she could convince him to sign on with them.

Her knees went weak at the sight of the money. Her mind raced with the possibilities of that much cash: they could pay off the overdraft fees at the bank and some of her husband's student loans. They could catch up on the mortgage and repay the money her cousin had loaned them when things really started to look bad.

In addition to the money, the briefcase contained a form letter from the president of some demolitions company, outlining the wages and benefits of employment with the company. A copy of the job contract was enclosed, and Anne spent a week pouring over it, searching for anything to validate her unease about the woman, the money, and the job being offered. She wasn't a lawyer, but everything seemed to be in order.

She counted the money, both thrilled and revolted. She didn't like the woman and her alleged 'agency,' and the thought of coercing her husband into accepting the woman's offer repulsed her. Accepting the money felt desperate and needy. It hurt her pride to even consider doing as the woman asked, and yet…it was exactly as promised: 25,000 dollars, American. There was a business card tucked into the lining of the case, and there was a hand-written note on the back, instructing her to call between 9 AM and 5 PM.

The woman's note stung her pride worse than anything before. The presumptuous woman knew she was going to break, dammit. She had half a mind to return the briefcase with a rude note attached, but she didn't know where to send it. And, as much as it shamed her to admit it, they desperately needed the money. She couldn't escape the fact her children were growing up poor.

The entire thing felt wrong. Anne had no clue who the woman really was or why her agency was so interested in her husband, but their intentions, whatever they were, were less than honorable. She didn't really give a damn what the woman's agency was up to, but knowing that her family was involved in their schemes made her queasy.

Asking a woman to manipulate her husband was playing dirty, and she had the feeling that they could get much nastier if she didn't do as they asked. She felt dirty and ashamed and afraid, but they desperately needed the money.

It all came back to the money. If they didn't need it so desperately, if they weren't so close to loosing their home, she'd tell the woman exactly what she thought of her agency and her offer and her arrogant attitude. If she didn't have David and Jilly to worry about, she would refuse the woman's offer without a second thought.

Truth be told, if she didn't have David and Jilly to worry about, she would have left her husband long ago. She cared deeply for him, but there was no getting around the fact that he was unemployed and he drank too much. She had waited faithfully for him when he was in college. She had suffered in silence on the many when he had become so involved in projects that he forgot about her completely. She knew he loved her, but she didn't know if she could say the same anymore.

After another week of deliberation, she swallowed her pride and walked to the payphone behind the public library to call the number on the card. Their phone service had been cut off the week before, and she hated herself for standing in a grimy phone booth, taking orders from a stranger she hated. She could practically see the cold smile on the woman's thin lips as she agreed to convince her husband to accept the job, once the agency offered it to him.

Another two weeks passed before he mentioned the job to her. He didn't want to take the job, but she begged him to reconsider. She brought the offer up whenever possible, and Anne could tell he was put-off by her constant wheedling. He didn't seem to suspect anything, but she knew he would be devastated if he ever found her out.

After another two weeks, he broke down and accepted the offer. Anne was drained by the six weeks she had spent lying to her husband, and she had almost been happy to see him off. But she had regretted her choice as soon as he was gone. She was alone, more alone then she had ever been. She was suddenly terrified someone would come for the children, and she would be helpless to do anything about it. She was ashamed of herself for lying and for accepting bribes. She was heartbroken to think about what would happen if her husband ever discovered her double-dealings. She tried not to think at all as she drove home. She had to stop to buy more cigarettes on the way; she was suddenly smoking more heavily than she ever had before.

The next day, a man in a dark suit delivered a briefcase containing another 25,000 dollars to their house.

The first thing she'd done was drive into the next town and buy a revolver. There was no way of depositing all 50,000 dollars in the bank without raising questions. She was going to have to keep the bulk of the money in the house, and the thought of having nothing to defend herself with made her skin crawl. She sincerely hoped that she would never need it, but knowing it was in her purse was strangely comforting.

For the first time in a month and a half, she felt secure. Her life might have been spiraling out of her control for years, but she had a gun. Knowing it was in her purse made her feel powerful. She stubbed what was left of her cigarette out in an ashtray, and then checked that the children were still asleep. She took the revolver out of her purse and examined it, admiring the way it gleamed under the kitchen lights. She sat quietly, simply enjoying the weight of the gun in her hand.

A short while later, she put the safety back on and slipped it back into her purse. She went to bed and slept, calmer than she had been in a long while.

* * *

_Wow, is this still updating? I've been busy, but I should be less busy in the coming weeks, so I hope to update this sometime before the rapture. Anyway, if you notice a sudden spike in quality, 'tis due to my lovely betareader/cuddle buddy, Nerveux._


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